The Start of Something
by TurquoiseEarHats
Summary: This short story explains why Sally Donovan seemingly hates Sherlock.


Sally smoothed back her hair and looked in the mirror. Her usually make up free eyes were smoky and her plain lips were glossy and tinted with a dark shade of rose. She tightened her ponytail one last time, straitened her formal blouse and exited the bathroom, nerves bubbling in her stomach as she heard his voice.

When she pushed open the door to Lestrade's office, he was there, reeling off some monologue and wrecking the neatly stacked desk to find a pen.

"A pen, Lestrade, a pen! Don't you have one of those!?" He was practically frantic.

Sally closed the door hurriedly and went to get herself a strong coffee. She had only met Sherlock Holmes a couple of weeks ago, but she knew that talking to him in this state was _not_ the best idea. He always got a bit too caught up in his cases. But whenever he stormed around the room, fire in his eyes and deducing the last detail of what the murder had done, she couldn't pull her eyes away.

When she returned to the office, Sherlock was still there, slightly calmer. Evidently he had found a pen and paper, and was feverishly jotting down something or other.

Lestrade looked up as she walked in. "Donovan, you're back, good. You stay here and, ah, man the desk while I just check on that poisoning case. Anderson should have something by now."

Lestrade looked at her meaningfully. She knew he didn't want to leave Sherlock by himself in this office full of files and things to ruin. He stomach churned at the thought of being alone with him for a full half hour but she pulled herself together.

"On it."

Sally sat down on the spare chair as Lestrade walked out. She couldn't believe how good he looked today, his dark curls as carelessly styled as ever, that purple shirt hanging off his sleep frame perfectly. Sally was always stunned by his good looks and lack of charm, and today was no different.

She tried not to stare and looked at the file in front of her. For a full minute neither she nor Sherlock spoke. Then, without looking up from his paper, he said, "You're wearing an awful lot of makeup. You weren't yesterday. "

She was slightly taken aback, and she fumbled with her answer for a moment before saying in the calmest tone she could "Yes, I thought I'd try something new. I was a bit bored with my old look."

"Yes, well, understandable." He extended his hand, "Hand me that phone, will you?"

Sally handed him the phone nervously and sat back again, trying to think of a comeback to his quipping remark. Maybe she could incidentally show him how clever she was as well. Mentally she winced at her own pathetic desperation, but nonetheless continued thinking. Pondering, she remembered she was not usually shy around men and had had her fair share of mindless flings with the staff. Maybe that was it…

"I looked at your website last night. Thought I might learn a thing or two." She smiled and tried to catch his eye.

"Oh really? Yes, I suppose you can try to learn but you would achieve nothing from looking at that website." Sherlock said, looking up quickly. Sally decided to take advantage of this and smiled, trying to keep eye contact and moving her chair slightly closer.

"Yes, well, I see that. It takes _one of a kind _to have your brains. I like brains in a man. It's… attractive."

Sherlock looked at her calmly.

"Yep… dead sexy." She flashed him another flirtatious grin and edged closer.

"Wait."

Sally stopped and looked at him.

"You're flirting with me. I have no interest in woman, I thought you knew that." Sherlock looked bored, and entirely unabashed at being so outspoken. He waited for an answer, drumming his long fingers on the desk.

Sally stuttered, _this _had never happened with anyone else. "Well, I thought maybe we could go out for a drink…"

"No."

Sally felt the flush on her cheeks.

"I don't particularly like you, Donovan, not in that way. Please don't throw yourself at me, it's very unattractive."

Sally felt her cheeks burn, her heart pounded with embarrassment. Why? Why did he have to be like this? She _knew _he could never like her, but she put herself on the line, acted like a _fool _and here he was. Like she was a dog that you simply said "No" to when it misbehaved. And she thought of how she had daydreamed of him like a lovesick school girl, and he embarrassment fuelled a stinging anger

"There's no need to be so… so fucking rude." She spat.

Sherlock looked taken aback. "I was simply being honest, Donovan, I can't help that the truth hurts." He sighed and got to his feet, "And your make up doesn't suit you. You look rather like a prostitute"

Sally leaped up. "Are you insane? Were you never taught that you just don't say things like that? What the hell is wrong with you? You… you _freak!" _

She could not disguise the angry tears that were in her eyes. Sherlock looked at her still. He was wondering why these funny people let emotion toy with them so, why they let their lives go to ruin because of simple, stupid actions.

"You FREAK!" She hissed, fleeing from the room. And as she strode down the corridor, she wiped her eyes and let the hatred seep over her. She hated that freak. She never forgave, and she never forgot.


End file.
